


Baking Bread

by gingerswag



Series: Wander Home [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Autistic Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Middle Ages, Past Abuse, Past Prostitution, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerswag/pseuds/gingerswag
Summary: Dean doesn't know how to make bread. Cas tries to teach him, with mixed results.Wander Home one-shot. Set a week after the end of Wander Home part 1.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Wander Home [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147427
Comments: 67
Kudos: 188
Collections: Destiel ✦ The Road To Freedom





	Baking Bread

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of doing my homework. Again.
> 
> Got a prompt from hooomdooom asking for a scene of Cas teaching Dean to make bread, and Cas comforting him if it didn't go to well. I think they meant for this to be less angsty, as did I, but it seems I am incapable of writing anything but angst!!!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

“Don’t be afraid to really push into it,” Cas says, “The dough needs to be kneaded well in order to rise.”

Dean tenses at the words, and waits, waits to see if they’re going to be accompanied by a shove or a slap or an angry order to stop messing everything up.

He’s been waiting for Cas to notice how bad he’s doing, waiting with rising anxiety as the sticky mess in front of him failed to transform into bread dough.

 _Stupid,_ Dean thinks, even as the moment passes and Cas does nothing to him but smile.

“Yessir,” he says quietly, and starts pushing into the dough with renewed energy.

He doesn’t understand how Cas had gotten his dough so perfect so quickly, doesn’t understand why his has stayed a pathetic wet blob in his hands. He doesn’t understand how to move his arms the way Cas has been doing, and is too nervous to stare openly to try to memorize what he’s doing.

He has little faith that his dough is ever going to come out looking like Cas’s. But he’ll try. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he’ll try.

He wants to make himself useful for Cas.

He thought he could be useful. When Cas asked him to say, he’d been sure, been so determined. To be useful, to be helpful, to ease some of the exhausted burden from Cas’s weary arms.

But working here.

It’s different from working at John’s inn.

Better, mostly. Cas is so nice to him. And he doesn’t beat him or yell at him when he does something wrong.

But. It’s hard too. Because he thought he knew what he was doing, thought he knew how to work in an inn, how to be helpful to Cas. It had been the only thing he could offer the other boy, the only thing Dean knew he was good at.

But Cas doesn’t want him to do the work he’s most used to, had gotten upset and cried when Dean had tried. And even the other work, the menial labor he’s so used to pushing himself through…

So much of it is different.

Dean thought he knew what inns were like, what work needed to be done around them. But he was wrong, he’s so stupid, for thinking he knows anything.

This inn is so different. It’s so strange, being so far from the city. There’s so much to do that Dean had never thought about before.

Cas doesn’t buy milk or eggs at the market every few days, because there’s no market around to buy from. He doesn’t drag home sacks of potatoes bought from a vendor, doesn’t fetch bread from an irritated baker who shoves him away when there isn’t enough money.

Cas gets milk from his cow, and eggs from his chickens. He grows his own vegetables, and makes his own bread.

And there are chores, so many chores, associated with those things. Chores that Dean has no idea how to do.

Chores like making dough.

Hopelessly, Dean tries to flip the goopy mess over, like he’d seen Cas do. As if the situation might be better on the other side.

The dough sticks to the stone table where he tries to pull it up, and it ends up stretching and looping it in on itself instead of flipping neatly on its back.

“You need more flour on the table,” he hears Cas say besides him. “So it doesn’t stick.”

“Yessir,” Dean says again, and does as he’s told to do.

He doesn’t look at Cas as he re-flours the table, and again presses his fists into the-thing-that-definitely-isn’t-going-to-turn-into-bread. Face pink, he stares fastidiously down, and tries to breathe around the lump in his throat, so he doesn’t burst into tears.

Because Cas doesn’t sound mad.

He doesn’t sound mad at all.

 _He’s so nice,_ Dean thinks, and it’s awful, because he feels so ashamed. He’s so ashamed at how bad he is at this, at how bad he is at so many things, at how much Cas has had to put up with.

Because Cas is nothing like John, he’s _nothing_ like him, he’s so so so patient with Dean, so much more patient than Dean thought anyone was capable of being.

He showed Dean how to collect eggs from the chickens, how to feed the animals, how to weed the garden, and never hit him or yelled at him the whole time even though Dean kept doing things wrong. He showed Dean how to feed the guests’ horses and then didn’t make him do it again because he was so clearly afraid of them. He showed Dean how to milk Luna, and didn’t even get mad when he took so long because he was scared of hurting her, and didn’t even get mad when he did it wrong and squirted milk onto Cas’s clothes.

The longer Cas goes without hurting him for his mistakes, the more awful Dean feels about making them.

He feels so guilty. He feels so guilty for being so bad when Cas is so good to him, no matter what he does.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks, looking down at his own unmoving hands buried in the sticky dough.

He hadn’t noticed he’d stopped kneading.

“I…”

He hadn’t _noticed_ he’d stopped kneading.

How long has he been standing there, wasting time?

How long has he been being lazy, staring into space like an idiot?

_Stupid. Stupid lazy slut._

His heart pinches in his chest as he continues not to move, and then pinches tighter when Cas does the moving for him. He picks up Dean’s arms like they’re inanimate, pulls them from the dough because Dean isn’t doing it himself. 

He takes a rag from the table and dips it in the water bucket, and, holding it, takes each of Dean’s hands between his own. He runs the rag firmly over Dean’s skin until it is clean.

Dean watches all this like it is happening to a stranger, like he isn’t in charge of his own body.

“I’m sorry,” he says when Cas drops his hands. “I’m. Sir, I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t…I messed it up. I can’t do it.”

Cas smiles at him. He _smiles_ at him, like Dean hadn’t just. Like he hadn’t. Messed up, fucked everything up. Like he hadn’t been bad bad bad bad so so bad.

Guilt shakes his soul like an earthquake.

“You did well, for your first try,” the other boy says. “I’ll shape it, and then later we’ll bake it, and see how it comes out. I’m sure it won’t be spectacular, but no one’s first bread ever is.”

Dean’s heart seizes in his chest.

“No!” he shouts.

Or. He doesn’t shout. But he says it, too loudly, and both of them start in surprise.

Dean’s hand comes up to clap over his mouth, horrified at his own impertinence.

Cas doesn’t hit him. Dean finds that he wasn’t expecting him too.

And that’s worse, that’s _worse,_ that scares him worse because not being hit means he wants to talk more, because it’s that kind of kind treatment that led to this problem in the first place, with Dean staring into space because he’s not scared of being beaten for not working.

Damn it. Damn it, _damn it._

“No?” Cas asks, but he doesn’t say it like he’s angry, he doesn’t say it like he can’t believe Dean had the audacity to talk back to him.

He just says it like he’s confused.

Damn it.

“I…” Dean starts, much, much quieter. “I don’t. It’s going to be _bad.”_

Bad. _Bad._ Just the thought of it makes his heartbeat pick up in fear.

Cas tilts his head, like he doesn’t understand.

“Of course it’s going to be bad,” Cas says, blunt as ever.

Dean flinches in terror, terror of something, not of Cas but of the truth, spoken clearly.

“It’s your first bread,” Cas continues. “Mine was terrible, it didn’t even rise. It’s not the end of the world, Dean.”

It feels like it is. It really does.

Some part of the misery Dean feels must show on his face, must be clear enough for even Cas to understand, because he hesitates.

“But. Dean…if you really don’t want to bake it, it’s alright. We don’t have to. And. We don’t even have to try this again, if you don’t want to. You don’t have to learn to bake bread.”

The guilt that had been swinging in Dean’s chest like a pendulum suddenly drops from its rope, slamming into his stomach with the force of John’s fist.

Dean bursts into tears.

It’s not relief, that makes him cry, not joy at being given again, _again,_ yet another respite.

It’s terror, terror at the _relentless_ kindness, kindness he doesn’t know what to do with, kindness that’s making him _bad._

He doesn’t know how to make it _stop._

Because no no no _no,_ that’s not what’s supposed to happen, that’s not what’s supposed to _happen._

Dean isn’t supposed to get what he wants. He’s not _supposed_ to be able to get out of things because he gets scared, because he gives up, because he doesn’t know what to do. He’s not supposed to be told it’s ok to make mistakes, that it’s ok to try again or not try again or rest when he’s tired or stop if he feels uncomfortable or scared.

Because it’s _not_ ok. It’s not ok! If he isn’t good that means he’s bad, and if he’s bad he’s useless, and if he’s useless he gets thrown out to the snow and the wolves because no one wants him around anymore.

And he’s already so useless. He’s already so useless here, needs to be taught so many things.

“It’s not alright!” He yells, face wet and red from humiliation. “It’s not alright, who do you keep saying it’s alright! _It isn’t!”_

Distantly, he can’t believe himself, can’t _believe_ that he’s yelling, _shouting_ at Cas, who holds his life in his hands and is the last person in the world who deserves to be yelled at.

He can’t help it though, he can’t _help it,_ because he’s bad, because being treated nicely has made him _bad,_ because he’s not scared enough of whatever Cas is going to do to him to stop himself from shouting.

Cas looks completely shocked and alarmed in front of him, and the guilt in Dean’s gut intensifies.

He knows now why John always had to treat him so harshly. This is what happens when he’s given kindness. He can’t handle it. He turns without hesitation into every bad thing John ever accused him of being.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” He accuses baselessly. “You’re being nice to me so I fuck up so you can throw me away like John did!”

Then he covers his face with his hands, because he’s scared of being hit, and because he knows what he’s saying doesn’t make sense.

He tries to be good.

He _wants_ to be good, for Cas.

There are so many things he doesn’t know how to do, but he tries to make up for it by doing the work he does know. He lights and stokes the fires, washes the dishes, cleans the tables and sweeps the floor. He mends the sheets and brings water from the well and does the laundry, and he tries so hard to do these things well, do them quickly, do them without being asked.

But even with the chores that he does know how to do, he’s found it so much harder to be good than he thought it was going to be. Not because Cas works him hard, but truthfully because he doesn’t.

Dean is used to being worked hard. He’s used to getting up before everyone else, and going to sleep long after the rest of the world is in bed. He’s used to his muscles trembling with strain, is used to being woken from his little rest by excruciating aches and cramps in his body. He’s used to his feet hurting like bruises, used to working manic in fright and obedience, used to being beaten for leaning against the wall for a moment, for just a moment, just a moment to let his muscles rest…

Cas doesn’t treat him like that. Cas doesn’t expect him to work and work and work until he drops, until he collapses, until he doesn’t have time to cry at night because he falls unconscious as soon as he’s able.

Cas lets him sleep, doesn’t wake him until 6:30, rouses him with gentle touches to his hair and a warm voice calling his name. They both get up together, and do work together, and Cas doesn’t take the fact that he has to do work too as evidence of Dean’s extreme laziness. No, he doesn’t tell Dean he’s lazy at all, even though he’s working less than he ever has in his life. He says nice things to Dean while he’s working, like _thank you,_ and _good job,_ and turns Dean pink with joy.

It’s making him bad. It’s making him lazy, it really is.

It’s so easy to give in. The kindness is addicting. It’s so hard to fight it. He tries to keep himself working hard, tries not to give in and rest when Cas tells him he can, tries not to drift away in his mind or hum to himself while he works.

He tries to work faster, to learn faster, to hold onto his fear as a motivator. But the longer Cas stays kind to him, the harder he finds it to panic, the harder he finds it to be good and perfect and useful.

Even now, he’s failing, he’s failing so badly at making dough, he should be better, he should be _better,_ if he wasn’t so lazy and bad he would be getting this _right._

_Useless._

He doesn’t know how to handle Cas being so nice about it. He doesn’t know what to do, if he isn’t beaten for messing it all up.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Stop being so nice to me! No!”

He doesn’t see Cas coming because his face is still hidden in his hands, and he jerks away when he feels Cas grab his shoulders, as if he’d ever be brave enough to fight.

He doesn’t fight, though, of course, and it turns out he doesn’t have to, because Cas still isn’t hurting him, is just tugging him along by his shoulders to the bench besides the table.

He sits Dean down on it, then sits besides him, and then wraps his arms around him and lets Dean hide in them while he cries as if that will keep him safe.

It makes Dean cry harder, at first, because he likes it, he likes being touched when it’s soft and undemanding like this, and he doesn’t deserve it but it’s being given to him anyway and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Eventually, the warmth starts to calm him, the gentle rubbing at his back starts to ease the fear and confusion from his clutch.

Dean lets himself go limp in Cas’s hold, because he isn’t hurting him, and lets the last of the sobs wrack him from time to time, until even the stragglers are gone.

“I’m sorry,” Dean hiccups. “I-I’m. I’m s-sorry.”

His breath hitches as he speaks, and Dean doesn’t open his eyes, exhausted.

He is sorry. He is sorry. He doesn’t know why he did that, or what just happened. He has no idea what just happened.

Cas doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t always answer Dean, and he’s still rubbing Dean’s back. So Dean thinks maybe he’s forgiven.

Eventually, Dean has truly stopped crying, and is just sitting, curled into Cas’s arms, tired and confused. He’s leaning as much as he can into Cas’s hold when the other boy finally speaks.

“You like being touched.”

Cas says it from above him. Dean opens his eyes and looks up.

From anyone else, Dean would take it as meaning something else.

Cas always says exactly what he means though. So Dean just nods, because it’s true.

He likes being touched, like this. Gently, without unspoken expectation behind the contact. He likes it a lot.

He likes it with Cas, especially.

Cas doesn’t say anything else after that, just tightens his arms around Dean’s body, and Dean decides to let himself enjoy it, though he doesn’t know what’s going on.

He doesn’t know why Cas isn’t mad at him. He doesn’t know why he started crying, or why he started shouting, and he doesn’t know why Cas just let him without hurting him.

He doesn’t know why he isn’t black and blue right now, and why he isn’t already back on the street.

He isn’t though. He isn’t. And he tries to hang onto that fact.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says again, in a voice almost quiet enough to be a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I did that.”

“You just got overwhelmed,” Cas says simply, as if stating an obvious fact.

Dean pulls away slightly, so he can look at him, really look at him, get a good view of his face.

He seems pretty put together, considering. Seems calm, unruffled. As if.

As if what Dean had just done had been expected. Or. At least, if not expected…understood.

Like he understood what had happened, better than Dean did.

“Overwhelmed?” Dean asks.

Cas nods.

“Yes. It happens to me too, sometimes.”

Dean swallows, and looks away. Wiping the tears from his face with the back of his sleeve, he shrugs.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just puts his head back down on the other boy’s chest.

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“It’s ok. It gave us something to do while we waited for our bread to rise, anyway.”

Dean blinks.

What?

Even though he’d just relaxed back against Cas, he pulls away from him once again. He takes in the boy’s face, considering it critically.

“Was that…a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

Cas’s expression stays flat, but his eyes twinkle with telltale amusement.

“Miracles do happen. Perhaps we should alert the church.”

A laugh bubbles out of Dean’s mouth, surprising him with its boldness. It sounds wet and raw after crying so hard, but it makes him smile all the same.

Cas smiles slightly back at him, and it makes him feel wanted instead of afraid.

“Did…is the dough really ready for baking?” He asks.

“Should be,” Cas replies. “It’s been long enough. Are we going to bake them?”

Dean blushes, remembering that that question had been the impetus for his breakdown.

He looks away, and Cas waits patiently for him to get his embarrassment under control.

He wipes at the dampness on his face, trying to pull himself together.

“Mine will be bad,” he says again, feeling the need to remind Cas, to acknowledge it one more time before committing.

“It’s fine, it’s just for practice.”

Dean nods shyly, trying to make himself accept that.

He doesn’t get it. But Cas didn’t beat him or get rid of him for yelling at him for no reason. There’s no reason he’d get mad about a messed up loaf of bread he already knows will be terrible.

“Ok. Ok, let’s bake them, then,” Dean replies, and Cas stands, extending a hand to help Dean up.

Dean takes it, lets himself take it without second guessing himself, and as he allows Cas to pull him upwards, it feels like the start of something brave.

***********

Later, they eat the bread. Dean’s is bad.

“Mine is bad,” he announces again, and Cas nods as he swallows a mouthful.

“Terrible,” he says bluntly, and Dean feels happy because it doesn’t matter.

“It’s edible, though,” he continues, “Which is significantly better than my first six attempts. I think you’re going to be a good baker, Dean.”

Dean flushes at the praise.

“You want to bake with me again?” He asks, surprised.

Even if Cas isn’t mad at him, he was sure he wouldn’t want to bake with Dean again, after the way he broke down.

But Cas nods, oblivious to Dean’s confusion.

“Of course. That is, if you want to?”

He pulls off a large chunk of his own loaf as he says this, then rips that chunk further into two. He passes one of the sections over to Dean, and Dean takes it quietly.

Brown and warm, Dean contemplates the bread in his hand before bringing it to his mouth to eat it.

It would make him more useful, to be able to bake bread.

It would make him better at helping Cas.

He crosses his ankles underneath the table as he bites into the bread, enjoying the way it tastes and the hearty feel of it on his tongue.

It would also.

Well.

If he’s being honest.

It would also just be nice to be able to make something so delicious.

“I’d like that,” he replies truthfully. And Cas, because he’s quiet and strange, doesn’t respond, but Dean knows him well enough by now to know that that means ok.

They eat their bread in silence until they have to start making dinner, and Dean feels unmoored and adrift and happy and free.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> As always, you can come give me prompts/talk to me about anything at https://ao3gingerswag.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also please look at this beautiful art by tumblr user iinstanttrashcollection of this oneshot!!!!!! aaaaahhhHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> https://ao3gingerswag.tumblr.com/post/643960590788919296/ao3gingerswag-s-new-gift-an-image-from-baking


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